


Very Good Bad Thing

by pinkchubbiebunnie



Category: Jacksepticeye Power Hour (Web Series), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Blood, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Blood and Gore, Choking, F/M, Graphic Description of Corpses, Murder, Murder Kink, Oral Sex, Smut, basically all the weird stuff you'd expect from an Anti fic, demon!reader, fem!reader - Freeform, their relationship is meant to be toxic fyi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:00:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29456370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkchubbiebunnie/pseuds/pinkchubbiebunnie
Summary: Valentine's Day is a busy time for you, seeing as your a sex demon, and you close most of your deals when people are feeling lonely and vulnerable. Of course, Anti just had to interrupt you. To give you his stupid... "present". Anti x Fem!Reader. Smut.
Relationships: Antisepticeye/You, Sean McLoughlin/You
Kudos: 14





	Very Good Bad Thing

**Author's Note:**

> this is so random. I started writing this a long ass time ago but didn't feel inspired to finish it until Valentine's Day rolled around. things to keep in mind: the relationship between Anti and the reader character is definitely supposed to be toxic, it's not supposed to be a portrayal of a healthy relationship in any way. and also, if you want some kind of visual, I just thought it would be funny to imagine the guy he killed as Ethan. so you can take that as canon for this fic if you want. idc. -Tanisha<3

Valentine’s Day. A day for lovers, a day for sweethearts, a day to remind those in your life how special you are to them. A day for petty arguments because the material objects exchanged do not show enough “love”. It was by far one of your busiest days of the year. Because where there are celebrations of love, there are always lonely hearts waiting to be comforted by you, waiting for you to warm their bed and have them signing their souls away to you before the condom is even dry. 

You were stumbling down the stoop of some expensive Brownstone in New York, one of your strappy heels only half on while you struggled to get your arm through the sleeve of your red, sparkling, heart printed cardigan. You had no time to waste on this Valentine’s Day; feeling the cool breeze of the night air nip at your bare bottom under your short red dress as you bent over to properly fasten your shoe, remembering that you’d probably forgotten your underwear inside, and not caring to waste the time to go in and retrieve them. 

You smiled when your phone rang, and grabbed it out of your pink, heart shaped purse - believing it to be your next stop for the night, calling to make sure you were on your way. You were walking briskly up the sidewalk, on your way to the subway, and didn’t even bother to check the Caller ID. 

“Hey baby,” You drawled in a sweet voice as you answered the phone. 

There was a chuckle on the other end, one slightly distorted by static. Your cheerful post-sex aura immediately fell, a stone cold expression taking over your face as you recognized whose voice this was, even before he spoke. 

Anti. Someone you had unfortunately met in this line of work, someone who had dug his claws into you in the best and worst ways. He was like tequila - a bitter sting going down, a floating high inside you, a terribly wicked hangover when you wake up next to him. You hated him more than you liked him. And today was one of those days when you could barely stand to even think about him. 

“What do you want?” You demanded, harsh and to the point, far too busy for his games on your most important night of the year. 

“What? I can’t just call my girl ‘cause I miss her?” His voice sounded distant, like recycled sound. Clearly he wasn’t calling you from an actual phone, but using his stupid tricks to get inside yours again. You kept trying to tell him that these days, technology could be more hauntingly invasive on its own without having an actual demon living inside it, but he could be like a bitter old dog sometimes - refusing to learn new tricks. Hell, he still refused to pick up anything to do his killing other than the ritual knife that had birthed him into his first vessel over twelve hundred years ago. 

You gritted your teeth at his words. 

“I’m not your ‘girl’.” You corrected, the affectionate term bitter on your tongue. He loved to stake a claim over you, to play house with you and then throw you away whenever he got bored. Part of you thought it was something he got enjoyment out of, just another way for him to feed off of human misery. Even though you weren’t completely human, which is something he just loved to tease you about. “Will you just fuck off? I’m working tonight.” 

“Oooh, little girl, watch the temper,” He scolded, half joking, his tone edging on truly condescending. 

You bit your lip, hating that your sore pussy throbbed from those words - hating that you were turned on by him even though you were supposed to be angry at him. Perhaps he could sense it through the phone, using whatever fucked up voodoo he was performing the call with, because he chuckled again. You hated it. 

“Besides, I need to see you. Daddy’s got a little present for you. A little Valentine’s Day gift.” 

You opened your mouth to argue, but the air was instantly ripped from your lungs when you felt a sharp electric shock go through your entire system. It lasted for only a moment, and if you had not experienced the sensation before, you likely would have thought you were struck by a rogue bolt of lightning. But no. Anti had pulled you right through the phone to wherever he was. You growled under your breath in frustration before opening your eyes. 

You found yourself in a pitch black space, your eyes quickly adjusting, and realizing that it was a rather nice residential house. You shoved your phone back in your purse and immediately went stomping through the dark, looking for the source of your problems. 

“Anti!” You shouted into the blackness, your anger toward him growing by the minute. The fact that he had disrupted you while at work and had the audacity to pull you away from it because he believed that toying with you was more important than whatever you had been doing. “Anti!” 

At the end of the hall, there was a door, which easily opened at your touch to reveal several things you did not expect. 

It was a joint dining room and kitchen, though the most of the area was still shrouded in darkness - the only light available to your eyes being a single dim light bulb in a wide fixture above the dining room table. Anti had been here a while - his handiwork was splattered everywhere. The previously while walls of the dining room were practically painted red with blood, and the source was spread out on the dining room table. A young man, no older than his early 20s, with pale skin and dark hair, with his throat deeply slit, so deep that you could see his esophagus collecting dust in the open air, and his chest flayed open roughly, pieces of what was previously his chest cavity sticking out all angles and missing all together. 

Your eyes scanned across the scene to the middle of the dining table, where Anti had carefully placed a very out of character, delicate red satin box. One of those typical chocolate boxes exchanged on Valentine’s Day. The lid was slightly askew, as though it was being propped up by something, pools of blood slopped all over the table, and you had a sneaking suspicion that chocolates weren’t the only thing in the box. If you hadn’t known Anti for so long, you might have been afraid. But without a single ounce of terror in you, you waltzed into the room, hung your purse on the back of one of the chairs, and lifted the lid off the box to see what his gift to you was. 

Just as you had suspected: before you, glistening in the dim lighting, was a freshly harvested human heart. All the arteries had been severed off rather cleanly, and with the blood still being so fresh and red, the flesh still so plump and almost lively, you had to admit it looked rather beautiful, laying there among the chocolates. 

The moment of beauty was immediately ruined when Anti walked into the room, holding a bottle of red wine. You glared at him, slamming the lid down onto the table. He was stained up to his elbows in blood, having not bothered to clean up before you got there, his dirty knife sticking proudly out of the waistband of his jeans. 

Anti smiled at you, a bitterly fake smile, as he reached to his belt to get that knife, sticking it into the top of the wine bottle as a strange, blood contaminated substitute for a corkscrew. 

“Good evening, darlin’,” He greeted you smoothly, the ‘pop’ of the bottle punctuating the nickname you hadn’t decided whether you loved or hated yet. “Why are you dressed like a Nun?” 

You wanted to laugh at the question, even though you knew exactly what he was referring to. In his book, the very fact that you were wearing sleeves, even though the hem of your cardigan came down below your very mini dress, meant that you were hiding yourself for ‘modesty purposes’. But you could get anybody you wanted wearing a bikini or a potato sack - you just liked wrapping your previous goods in something stylish. He didn’t seem to understand style. From what you had seen, it didn’t seem like Anti understood what a wardrobe was - every single time you were together, he always wore the same plain black tee shirt and plain black ripped skinny jeans. Occasionally he sported a worn old leather jacket, but you thought it was only because you’d commented on how hot he looked in it. 

“It’s the middle of February. It’s cold outside.” You reminded him, and with your own words, instantly reminded yourself of the fact that he likely did not feel cold, even living in a human shell. Even with your immortality, you still had far more human experiences than he did - your senses were still intact, even if your weaknesses were not. “Not that you’d know.” 

He glared you down across the table, something swimming in the black pits of those eyes that you simply could not place. Something you had never seen before that made you feel quite uneasy. You found yourself reaching up to remove your cardigan - but no, not for him. The air in here was getting far too stiff. Balmy. Quite the change from the thin, easy air from outside. 

He poured the wine into two glasses you had failed to notice among the slaughter, obviously far too distracted by the carnage, and you grabbed up the alcohol before he even offered it to you - eager to have something to drown out this feeling, to cut through the thickness of the air. 

“You’re such an asshole.” You declared, sound muffled into your glass as you half sipped, half ranted at him. 

“Would an asshole do all this for you?” He was being cheeky, trying to be fucking charming. 

“Is this supposed to impress me?” You questioned, tone bordering somewhere between shock and sarcasm, barely pulling the glass away from your mouth to speak. You gestured to the heart, knowing that it was quite obviously the present he intended to give to you. Your eyes fixated on him then, waiting to see if this was some kind of sick joke or truly his attempt at affection. 

“What?” He asked indignantly. 

He set the wine bottle down on the table with a clunk and grabbed the young man’s head by his hair, hoisting his face into view from where he had been slumped back in the chair. The way his limp body flexed to every motion the demon was forcing upon him, showing how truly lifeless he was made it kind of unnerving for the first time, and you drained the rest of the wine glass in a single unending gulp. You convinced yourself it was because in your line of work, living flesh was worth infinitely more than cold, dead meat. Not because you were ever actually scared of Anti. He was a pest to you most days; an annoyance, but nothing to be truly afraid of. The victim’s face was sweet, angelic, and the deep gash in his throat still oozed blood as Anti wiggled him closer to display him to you, as though he was showing off something of value, like an expensive piece of jewelry or a new car. 

Given, with the way you lived now - or rather, the way you spent your now immortal existence, neither of those things truly mattered. But you could imagine the way a human would perceive this situation. Terrifying. Laughable, perhaps, if their mind was warped in just the right way.

“You like virgins, don’t you?” 

He dropped the boy’s head carelessly, making him land forward on the table with a thud. Some part of you winced inside - the part that still held on those mushy human emotions, even if you had built up a shield that kept you from showing them. You knew Anti didn’t think of humans the same way you did, that he never had. He considered them to be a modicum of inconvenience, a source of cheap entertainment, or most likely: the source of his disposable power. Pitying a human being no more than a human pities a log they burn in their fireplace for warmth, or goal they burn up in a train to travel. In fact, from the few times you had seen him work, you knew pity was the exact opposite of his game. He had never explained it to you very well, but from the way he had put it, you believed he got his power from fear the way you got yours from lust. He didn’t have to eat a person’s soul, just terrorize them and suck the fear off their aura, eat it from the air to survive. 

You wondered for a moment what fear tasted like, but let that thought die off in your mind.

But your business was so entirely different from his. You had to take a lot of mindful care to ensure that your clients - your  _ slaves, _ were in good enough health to actually perform when needed. 

“I do.” You told him with a huff. “But typically, I prefer for them to be a bit more lively.” 

You reached forward, stroking your fingers over the beautiful, plump flesh of the heart, contemplating the irony of it. During your last argument, you had accused him of being completely cold and heartless and this is what he had done for you. In his own fucked up way, he was trying to show affection. He was quite literally: giving you his heart. 

You placed your glass down on the table and Anti instinctively refilled it. You felt your fingers slick with blood from fondly petting your gift and lifted them to look at the way the bright red liquid stained your skin. 

You could imagine exactly how it went down - the young man distracted by some kind of device (which Anti had since removed, trying to set the scene for you) sitting alone in the darkness and feeling comfortable as ever in his own home. Likely believing that the glitching and static on the screen was nothing more than a technological error. Having the last thing he saw be a flash of green reflecting in the dark screen. Anti would have held his head back, felt him struggle in vain against the inhuman strength as he gurgled out his last few breaths. Anti would have held the victim’s chin up; he liked to watch the blood spray out in all directions. One time he told you fondly that it was like painting a picture. 

You glanced behind yourself, seeing that of course - the white wall of the dining room was painted with a bright red splatter. You rubbed the blood between your fingers and thumb, feeling the slickness of it. It was still so fresh. After considering it for a moment, you lifted your fingers up to your mouth and placed them on your tongue. 

Anti groaned out deeply, not hiding his appreciation or arousal at you at least trying to appreciate his gift. You decided to milk it, pushing your fingers into the root, and moaning around them to put on a show for him - though your heart had sped up in your chest and your pussy did throb at the heated expression on his face, the way he was watching you. You pulled them out after a prolonged moment, staring at Anti, hating the taste of the blood that as it lingered on your tongue. 

It was bitter and metallic. This must be what fear tasted like. You winced. You grabbed up the wine glass again, eager to wash the taste right out of your mouth. You had never developed a taste for blood. Not for blood or for killing. Not like Dark had. Not like Anti had. Killing was always too…  _ final  _ for your taste. Orgasms are infinite. 

There is more than one way to own a soul. 

“The fact that you thought, even for a moment, that this is a nice gift for me, shows exactly how horrible we are for each other.” You told Anti, the decision to leave and never see him again clear and final in your mind. You turned sharply on your heel, picking up your cardigan and your purse, intending to leave him to clean up his mess, or do whatever the hell he wanted to do with it.

He was standing in your path in a blink. 

“Please, don’t go.” His voice was small, and for a moment, you were actually convinced he was feeling some kind of true need for you. He was really getting better at begging. 

He gripped your forearm with his cold hand and you gazed up into the pits of his black eyes, giving him the harshest stare that you could muster. “Why shouldn’t I?” 

He took your things out of your hands and placed them back down. You let him. 

“Because I truly want to apologize.” His voice sounded almost sincere. 

You raised both brows at him. You had never heard anything close to an apology coming from Anti before, ever. He was about as shameless as a person gets. 

“Oh, so you’re admitting that you fucked up?” You prodded at his words, mocking him with harsh language to see if he was going to let his temper get the best of him, yet again. 

“That asshole had it coming!” Anti shouted, his emotions flickering just beyond this realm, his voice just barely going to that place where it shook with pixelation, where it seemed to leave his body. But he didn’t stop there. “I can’t have people staring at my girl like that! You’re mine!” 

The last declaration filled him with so much passion that the vein in his neck pulsed and the light above the table flashed so hard that the bulb blew out completely, but the sudden sound of glass shattering before the remains of the bulb fell didn’t distract you from keeping your eyes locked on Anti. 

You on the other hand, cloaked once again in complete darkness, were filled with a sour kind of anguish. Anguish toward the man - the thing, who had the nerve to yoyo you around, hold you at arms length when it was most conveinent for him, and then go pulling you through the fucking phone like you didn’t have your own business to attend to, now calling you ‘his’. 

“I’m done here.” You went to leave again, and he was in front of you - again. 

This time on his knees. Grovelling. You were surprised by that one. He did look good like this - looking up the length of your body, staring up at you from such a small position. Still, with something dancing in his endless eyes that you couldn’t quite name. 

“I am…” He gulped, hesitating with his words, and the deep wound that was ever present across his own neck twitched, leaking out some impossibly fresh blood. “I am sorry.” He took a calculated breath before speaking again. “Perhaps… I may have overreacted, and let my anger get the best of me. At certain points during that night.” 

You wanted to laugh in his face at the gratuity of his vast understatement. 

You had asked him to take you out to dinner. That was all. Not a very big thing to ask. Or perhaps it was considering that you were both demons and he had an insatiable bloodlust. But you thought it shouldn’t be a distant fantasy to go out to a nice restaurant and have dinner with your… ‘boyfriend’. Or whatever he was. But of course, he couldn’t keep his temper under control for one night.

You had promised not to focus on work. Most of the time when you were lurking in the mortal realm, it was to scope out your next prey, or running the occasional errand for Dark - but you had promised him that the night would be strictly for the two of you. You couldn’t help that you couldn’t turn off your natural lustful aura, the irresistible thing that lured humans into you. You were a sex demon, after all. It was your vessel’s natural goal to lure in as many victims as possible - you couldn’t turn off your hormones or theirs. 

And Anti’s natural state was anger. So when he caught the waiter staring down your top, he made a lame excuse about needing to use the bathroom and pulled the waiter into a supply closet where he - of course, slit his throat. And then he whisked you out of the restaurant before anyone could find the body. Normally, Anti liked to take credit for his work. He liked to plaster his symbol all over the crime scenes and sometimes even wait for the cops to show up so he could get in a couple of extra bodies if he was feeling particularly randy that night. 

But he was so goddamn possessive of you. You thought he’d take out his dick and piss all over you if he thought it would make other people stay away from you. (The thought crossed your mind for a moment if he was even capable of pissing, because you knew he did not need to eat or drink to survive. This thought died off very quickly because it was not important to the matter at hand.) That’s just how he behaved - like an animal. But you didn’t need some rogue alpha male growling over your shoulder to protect you. 

You could take care of yourself. He had no idea of half the things you’d done, hell, of some of the things you’d done before you made your deal with Dark all those years ago - when you were still fucking mortal. 

And it pissed you the fuck off when he tried protecting some sense of honor that you didn’t fucking have. On top of ruining your date night. 

You heaved out a sigh as you were reminded of why you had been so mad at him in the first place. 

“Hey, I’m genuinely trying to apologize, here!” He cried out, exasperated. He was on the other side of the room now, his patience with this conversation beginning to grow short. 

He knew how mad you were. He was probably reading your aura again. Something he could do only because you had been born human. He said it was like tasting your emotions in the air. Which you fucking hated a lot of the time, because it was his was of cheating through conversations with you. Knowing exactly what to say and what to do in order to keep you happy without having to do any real work, without having to think. 

“I don’t want some shallow apology that won’t last! Cause the next time you get pissed off at someone for looking at my tits, we’ll be right back here again!” You growled at him. “I want you to stop treating me like I’m some little girl who needs your protection. Yes, you and I come from very different places, but I’m still… bad. Like you are.” 

You knew your words weren’t very convincing. But you weren’t being completely honest. Because that’s never how you saw yourself - bad. You always thought you gave people the lesser of two evils. Pleasure, and a way to get the things they wanted - money, fame, healing, safety for their loved ones. They could worry about their mortal soul on another day. Just like you had. 

Anti chuckled cruelly, the sound bouncing off the walls with a unique kind of menace. He stepped forward, closing the gap between the two of you, pressing his hard body into yours from thighs to chest and wrapping his arms around your middle and for some reason - you let him. You had missed him. Oh god, he was probably reading that off your aura now, too. 

“You know you’re not convincing anyone, darlin’.” He grumbled lowly into your neck. His beard scratched up your soft skin, his words vibrating across your neck before he poised his mouth to start biting there - digging his teeth into you with the determination to leave a mark, to make sure everyone knew you were his. You felt heat creeping across your skin from the burning sting his feral teeth left, and steeled yourself against the urge to moan. 

You placed a hand on his forearm and dug your nails into him. He was managing to piss you off and turn you on all at the same time. 

“I may not be bad.” You corrected your previous statement. “But I’m certainly not the good girl you seem to think I am. I don’t need you to protect me.” 

Anti chuckled again, vibrating your whole body with the sound. He took a moment to suck on your skin, latching right onto what he knew to be a sensitive spot on your neck - finally making you moan out quietly into the darkness before he spoke. 

“You think I don’t know that? No good girl can suck cock the way you do.” He pressed his hips forward into yours, moving one hand down to your ass to put a deeper pressure on your hips from behind, making sure you could feel the potency of his newly formed erection. “Only dirty little sluts have mouths like yours.” 

He was trying to distract you. Get your mind focused on sex in order to avoid the true root of the problem. He had put up a fence around you like you were something he owned, but never paid the full price. He was never there when you asked, when you needed him - but expected you to be there at his every call. Literally. 

“Then what the fuck was that the other night?” You demanded, your voice cracking ever so slightly. Lust was coursing hard through your veins, a hot pain beating between your legs - but you were used to functioning like this. If you lost your head every single time you got horny, you would never get your job done. “Not just the other night.” The memories came flooding back to you in droves. “That time at the drive-in when you stashed that guy in the trunk, that time you  _ interrupted me _ while I was working-” 

Anti growled, promptly cutting off your rambling. He pulled away from you, leaving your body cold, and you tried your best to deny the feeling of loss as you turned around to watch him. He paced the room for a moment before he leaned against the table, completely ignoring the fact that he was dipping his hands in blood as he leaned on the tabletop with his palms. You guessed he was more used to the feeling of drying blood against his hands than he was to actually confronting the consequences of his actions. 

“I was jealous!” He barked. “I may not be playing with a full set of emotions… hell, I might not even be capable of actually  _ feeling _ emotions. I might just be so good at faking ‘em by now that I think I know what jealousy is.” 

His tone was somber, like he was truly regretful that he couldn’t - that he didn’t feel the same things that you did.

You felt a pang in your chest somewhere, and for the first time ever since you had met him - you felt genuinely bad for Anti. You couldn’t imagine the mental minefield; never knowing if your emotions were real or… just a cheap imitation. At least having been born human, you had the privilege of growing up actually feeling things. Hell, you could still feel things now. That’s part of what made you so good at your job. At least that’s what Dark had told you. The empathy. Being able to get people to trust you that much easier. That’s a huge reason why Dark had kept you around. Why he needed you at all. Why he extended your deal to immortality and didn’t just throw your soul away to rot like all the others. 

You wondered if that’s what made Anti like this: rot. If his soul had been like yours once, something human, and after years, centuries, of killing and causing chaos without reason, he had become this thing. He claimed that he was never human to begin with, but you weren’t so sure. You always felt something about him that was even just barely an essence of human. Even if it was learned. 

“Whenever I so much as see one of those creeps lookin’ at you, darlin’, it makes my fucking blood boil.” His voice glitched once again, taking a sharp edge with his anger, reminding you just how non-human he was. “I know that you’re supposed to fuck them, cause that’s how you… close the deal.” You could tell from the displeasure on his face that the words were poison on Anti’s tongue. “But I fucking hate it. Ever since we spent that first night together… I have thought of you as mine.  _ Mine. _ You should be. I can’t even stand the thought of anyone else touching you.” 

You couldn’t deny that those words sent a new wave of lust through you. The way he talked about you; it was sexually thrilling to actually be owned for the first time in god knows how long, especially when your job was to jump from partner to partner, collecting as many souls (and orgasms) as possible. And this was the first trace of genuine affection Anti had shown for you since meeting you. Previous to this, as far as you knew, you were nothing more than a play thing to him. Something of not much greater value than the people he liked to tie up and string along, making them believe that if they begged enough they could actually convince him that their lives were worth saving - all before he just slit their throats anyway. 

You were the one to close the gap this time, putting your hands on his hips and angling your mouth in towards his as you spoke. 

“Just because I fuck mortals for a living, doesn’t mean I’m not yours.” You hummed the words against his cool lips and stared into his dark, glassy eyes, trying to read any emotion from them. “You’re the only demon who’s ever touched me.” 

He looked visibly surprised. “What about…?”

You knew where this was going before he even spoke the name. “No. Never.” You assured him. It was the truth. “Dark and I… that’s strictly a business relationship.” 

Anti growled lowly. This newly found knowledge seemed to reignite his arousal for the night and increase it tenfold. He brought a hand up, which was now covered in the slowly thickening, dark blood and used it to tear down the straps of your dress and bra, smearing blood all over your shoulders in the process. He began biting across the skin there, tonguing at the blood, determined to leave his mark. 

“Why do you think I keep coming back, even when you keep pissing me off?” You remarked breathlessly, letting yourself fall to the heat he was cranking up inside your body. “Mortals are so… fragile. They wanna fuck and go to sleep and then they’re done with you. Your cock is truly the only one that has ever  _ satisfied _ me.” 

He gripped your ass tightly again, this time using it as an anchor to spin you around and hoist you onto the tabletop. You would have worried about your dress becoming stained with blood, but your concerns immediately shifted when you leaned back and your head brushed against the cold shoulder of… Anti’s ill received gift. 

“Do we have to fuck _ right _ next to a dead body?” You whined at him as he began leaving marks on the tops of your breasts. 

“You’re no fun.” He was clearly annoyed by your request. But still, in a bid to stay on your good side, he pulled away from you to walk around the table, pulled out the chair the body was sitting in, and dumped him unceremoniously on the floor. “That better?” 

“I’ll take it.” You sighed. The back of your dress was already soaked through with blood, so simply enough, Anti would owe you a new dress, and it was far too late to ask him to clean the scene any further. That, and the need between your legs was getting far too sharp to ignore; so you could ignore the nasiter parts of the scene, especially when you got drunk on his cock. 

There wasn’t much complaining from either of you from that point on. 

Especially when Anti shoved his tongue into your mouth, making the only noises you were capable of soft moans and quiet whines that emitted out against his tongue and were swallowed up by his throat. He rutted against you, his cock clearly dying to be let out of his jeans, and you reached out to do so, but were promptly stopped by a quick hand from him.

“Not yet.” He breathed against your skin as he began kissing down your neck once more. “I’ve gotta have a taste of this sweet cunt first.” 

A burning heat crept up your back at his words, and not a single part of you wanted to protest. All you could do was moan as he descended to his knees, gripping onto your thighs and ripping your hips roughly towards the edge of the table. The fact that your body slid so easily, slicked up by the blood, sent a sick thrill through you that you tried to ignore. It was filthy, vile, deplorable. You being turned on by the blood, by the horrifying things Anti had done. Of course, Anti smelled it coming off your aura, could smell it as could as he could smell the wetness coming from your pussy and both sensations made him growl deep in his throat. 

He pushed up your dress, so glad that he’d caught you with no underwear, and as he eyed up your flushed, soaked pussy, a beautifully sick idea formed in his mind. At first you had no clue what he was doing, as he wiped his hands around the table beside you and underneath your thighs, and you glanced down to quickly deduce that - he was gathering up the blood in his palms. 

“Wh…?” The syllable died off in your throat, as you were now incredibly curious of his actions and far too horny to question him. You didn’t want to piss him off and have him fuck off back to the Void, have him leave you here all alone to take care of yourself - or go find some inadequate cock somewhere else. 

“Just because you don’t like your present, darlin’, doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy it,” He stated, very matter-of-fact, and before you could be confused any further, he imparted his idea to you when he took both of his messy, dripping hands and rubbed them all over your sensitive, swollen pussy. 

A weak moan escaped your throat when his palm skimmed over your sensitive mound, and for a moment you felt a twinge of shame for taking pleasure in his absolutely heinous act. 

But that’s why he did it, of course. Because he could read your aura. He could smell your secrets. And he knew that you were turned on by the blood, even if you never admit it. Because the way to own the deepest parts of you - didn’t come through anger, or through macho posturing, it was through your pussy. He should have figured that out a long time ago. 

His slick, quickly drying hands reached around the outside of your legs to hold you tight in place as he shoved his head between your thighs and his tongue took a heavy, dangerous taste of you. He groaned against you as you squealed out into the air. 

“Fuck! Fucking fuck!” 

It was your natural sweetness and the intense tinniness of the blood all at once, contrasting and yet so complementary to each other. Your hand went to his hair, gripping the bright green between your fingers and pulling harshly, knowing he had no problem with you roughing him up, with asking for what you needed in harsh touches and screams of his name. 

“Anti!” 

“So fucking good.” He growled against you, digging his fingers into your hips hard enough to leave marks as he sucked down hard on your clit. 

He continued attacking you with his tongue, making hard, laborious laps across your pussy, collecting up all the blood he had painted you with, along with all the wetness that was continuously dripping out of you. Every touch was electric, every small contact that his wet tongue made with your overly hot, sensitive pussy making you lurch up off the table and cry out into the dark room. 

“I’m close,” 

He was relentless then, shoving his tongue inside you, making it seem as though he was going to taste the very essence of who you were from the inside out. Hold your thighs tight, the wicked mixture of blood running clear with your hot juices, being sucked down by him as he vibrated hot moans into your pussy at the very taste. 

“Fuck, Daddy!” You screamed out as you came, using the nickname you often denied he deserved, making him smirk against your flesh. 

He rode you hard through it, not pulling away until you were spent, your muscles twitching under his touch. 

“I missed this gorgeous cunt so much.” He groaned as he kissed his way back up your body. 

“I know you did.” You breathed into his mouth, right before he reconnected your lips with a kiss. “Cause you’d never apologize to anyone if getting your dick wet wasn’t involved.” 

“Oh, you think so little of me,” He was able to keep a harsh, sarcastic tone, even with his hard cock throbbing against your thigh through his jeans. “What if I am actually sorry?”

He was giving you a chance to doubt the authenticity of his apology. You refused to get into it right now. Instead, you began pawing at the crotch of his pants once again.

“Show me.” You breathed in a sexed out voice. “Show me how sorry you are.” 

He once again brushed away your hands, but this time replaced them with his own; which were stained with a now dried up, deepened red as he reached to unbutton and unzip his jeans. The sight might have been startling to any mortal - a man who had just freshly killed another and played around in the blood reaching to free his hard cock and fuck his girlfriend rather than feeling an ounce of guilt about it. But you were no mortal and Anti was no man. So the sight of his gorgeous, hard cock springing free from the fly of his jeans, not bound by any underwear, and then gripped by his red hand and pumped a few times to prepare himself for you; it turned you on a bit too much to be fair and you knew that he more than caught you staring and biting at your lip to keep from moaning at the visual alone.

Despite what some may believe, Anti’s cock was perfectly human. Probably the only part about him that was human. When he captured this vessel, whatever the guy’s name was, he did take hold of all the guy’s current - assets. His pale, lean body, his stunning smile, his hard, carved jaw that could grow a panty-dropping dark beard. 

And most definitely a thick, beautiful cock. You had seen and experienced more than a few cocks in your line of work, and had come to develop a unique kind of fascination with studying them. Most women, even women who enjoyed sex with men on a regular basis, were disgusted by the sight of a cock. But you found them to be quite artful. Especially hard and ready, and  _ especially _ Anti's. 

It was pale, with gorgeous, pulsing dark purple veins, now with some splotches of dark dried blood smattered across the smooth skin from where he had touched it. Sticking out proudly from a patch of untamed dark hair, the gorgeous beast made your pussy clench around nothing - hungry, anticipating. 

“You missed this, didn’t you, darlin’?” He wrapped a hand around his cock and pumped it proudly along with his cocky words, and you bit your lip as you watched the swollen flesh choked in his tight grip.

“I think you know,” You wouldn’t say it outright, knowing he could smell the height of your lust, could feel the heat burning off your aura. 

He gripped both your hips tight, pulling you toward the edge of the table, snapping his hips in tight toward yours, letting the flesh of his cock smack against your burning pussy without pushing inside. 

“I do know,” He teased as he dug his fingers into your flesh, determined to leave his marks there, swaying his hips, teasing you with the thickness of himself. “I just like it when you say it.” 

“Just fuck me,” You urged. 

With the look on your face and the heat pouring off your body, it seemed he had no other option but to comply. He jutted his hips forward at just the right angle, and shoved his cock gloriously inside you. His flesh was burning hot inside your pussy, but not in the same way a human man’s would - like the way bleach burns your eyes, like the way poison burns when it gets injected into your veins. Not a kind warmth, but a venomous sting that made you feel rotten in the best way. Perhaps it was what made his cock truly the best - that unique thing he had that you could never get curled up next to any mere mortal; or perhaps it was the fact that he was the only one who knew how to pin you down and fuck into you in just the right way.

Which is exactly what he did. 

His hips slammed into yours at lightning speed, shocking every single nerve inside your pussy with that bitter poison, stretching you open in the best way. His thumb found your swollen clit and rubbed hard as his mouth came down to the top of your breast, his entire body hunched over yours, his spine arched as he growled out - primal, beastly, just like the monster you knew he was. It only made you wetter, only made your pussy squeeze tighter around him.

“You’re mine.” He declared, his voice so gravelly that it fractured into that space of being non-human, coming from a place beyond the human voice box he used while touring with this vessel. Terrifying echoes from the darkness of the room. Butchered and beautiful in some way. “You’re mine.” It made your heart speed up, knowing how much you were making him lose control. “This sweet cunt is all mine.” 

“Fuck, Anti!” 

Your entire body was on fire, your stomach tightening as he rubbed your clit harder, bringing you closer to orgasm. He brought his free hand up to your neck and pressed his thumb against your pulse, feeling the fruits of your deal for a prolonged life, for immortality and beauty in endless youth, and in him doing so, gently cutting off the oxygen to your brain with only the skill of someone who had used those hands to slowly ring the life out of so many necks - he sent you over the edge. 

Drilling into you without pause, fucking your pussy open as your orgasm soaked his cock, he did not cum along with you. But he let out a moan of ecstasy along with your chorus of high pitched whines. With the humming in your nerves and the chemicals pumping through your veins, you felt it - the lightheadedness, the tingle across your skin that felt like tiny pin pricks, that little something extra, that thrilling thing along with the orgasmic high flowing through you. 

He was drinking your energy. 

“Fuck, Anti.” You breathed against his cheek, taking in big gulps of air as the last waves of your orgasm flowed through you. 

He was starting to soften inside you - it was something you had known for a while, but he didn’t cum like a man did. And it had taken you a while to answer the question burning in your mind: why did he want to fuck you if he didn’t cum? Until you had realized it. He drank your energy. It’s what made the orgasms so good for you. It was different from when he drank fear, something he did with his victims - for some reason, when he drank your pleasure, it increased it tenfold. But he would never admit that to you. 

Maybe it was something he needed to sustain the human vessel, even though if the man rotted, he could find a new one anytime he wanted - though you had grown fond of him in this form. Maybe it was something a human body needs that demons can’t find. Maybe it was something Anti had only started needing after he had met you. Some part of you was convinced that you had even made him dependent on it. The pleasure. 

Maybe it’s why he always abandoned you right after things got good between you. Because he hated it. He hated good. He couldn’t stand the fact that he needed this from you. That he needed pleasure, rather than pain. Maybe that’s what made you truly different from the people he flayed with his knife and left for dead, the bodies he piled up. This wasn’t a hunt, it was his one true weakness. Needing something he couldn’t just go out and take for himself. 

You were pulled from these thoughts when Anti leaned in and pressed his lips to yours once more, giving you another heavy, deep kiss before he pulled away. He then stood up and straightened himself, leaving you bare to the cold room, and sticky nearly everywhere. You’d likely use the shower before you left. 

You put your hands on the edge of the table and sat up, stretching your stiff back as Anti zipped up his pants. 

“I did miss you.” He whispered quietly, eyes darting over your face as he tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. 

He didn’t let himself get too caught up in the emotional moment, walking around the table to busy himself with something. You poured yourself another glass of whine and took a gulp, watching as he flipped the dead man over and dipped his hands into the open chest cavity before he walked to one of the walls that had been less messed by the blood splattered and began drawing his mark - a crude fingerpainting of sorts. 

You reached into the heart shaped box that was still sitting on the table and gathered one of the chocolates, biting into it. 

“Ugh!” You groaned out at the taste, and spit it into your palm before you simply threw it onto the floor, not caring about adding to the mess. Anti glanced over his shoulder at you, quirking an eyebrow. “I hate coconut.” 

Anti chuckled. 

“Besides, I don’t think the fact that they’re swimming in blood helps much with the taste.” You sipped the wine, once again washing the bitter taste out of your mouth. “Virgins taste so much better when they’re blood is pulsing with pleasure, not fear.” You told him, quite matter-of-factly. 

“And what would you know about that, darlin’? Gotten up to some ritual sacrifice in your day?” Anti was mocking you again.

You gritted your teeth, resisting the urge to call him a name. Especially seeing as how you’d just gotten back on good terms. 

“This isn’t the Old Times anymore,” You chided. “You don’t have to kidnap girls and tie them down on some altar in a dark cave to get the job done. People give me their wrists willingly when I pull out rope.” 

He simply chuckled again, shaking his head as he pulled away from the wall, standing back for a moment to admire his work. You had never quite understood the mark - a severed, bulging eyeball. But it was always so important to him. 

He then came back over to you. “I’ll send you home now.” 

“Oh you’re actually gonna send me home this time? You’re not gonna take the car and make me walk five miles to the nearest gas station? In heels, I might add.” You enjoyed reminding him of his past transgressions, getting digs in where you could. 

He rolled his eyes at you, but said nothing. 

You drained the wine glass, and turned to place it beside the chocolate box. Seeing the severed heart inside, the flesh now greying, deflating with what little time had gotten to it - even though it wasn’t the typical jewelry or flowers, it reminded you of him. You couldn’t bear to leave it behind. You picked it up in your hand, grossed out by the soft, decomposing flesh, and concentrated your energy on it. Before your eyes, it became plump and beautifully pink once again. Your gift of resorting youth used upon it. 

Anti brushed his fingers over the organ. 

“How the fuck did you do that?”

You smirked at him this time. 

“You’re not the only one who has tricks, ya know.” 


End file.
